Classic Poem

Within this cell I for my life have fought.
Wrestl'd and struggl'd for it hand to hand.
My keeper's fingers round my throat were caught,
With deadly hate he press'd my strong weasánd.
But fighting for my life's not new to me;
For life and property I'd 'fore then strove,
Fought strength with strength, and skill with strategy:
By both combin'd his fingers were unrove.
A strong, cat-like, six-foot Hibernian.
At near two hundred pound he tipt the scale,
Loving whiskey better than Falernian.
And in a fight he ne'er was known to quail.
By fortune and by strength I won the day.
Now knows he well that choking me “don't pay.”